


Homesick

by kat_fanfic



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, First Times, M/M, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:06:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kat_fanfic/pseuds/kat_fanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blessed Protector on vacation. Simon intervenes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homesick

**Author's Note:**

> *** Repost from 852 Prospect***
> 
> Sorry for this. Drama Queen on the strike again. Sigh. I just can't help myself.

Jim Ellison was pissed. He stumbled into the loft, shutting the door behind him with obvious relieve. His travel-bag landed carelessly on the floor, as his hyperactive senses searched for the only heartbeat that could soothe the raging headache pulsing behind his forehead. 

"Damn it, Blair," the exhausted detective mumbled, his frantic search coming up empty. "Where the hell are you?" 

An hour later, Jim prowled the living room, despite his tiredness unable to sleep. The pain in his head grew more intense with every passing second, and - unable to dial down - the normally soft cotton of his sweater scratched on his skin like sandpaper. Sight and hearing were spiking uncontrollably, driving away every thought of rest. All in all, Jim hadn't felt that bad since before knowing Blair. 

It had been a test, of sorts. Blair, for once unable to come with Jim when the detective had to attend a conference in Boston, and being the crazy scientist that he was, had turned the whole thing into an experiment. 

He'd wanted the test to see how Jim would cope with being without his guide for an extended period of time. No phone calls or e-mails allowed. Jim had been confident, considering that he had his senses under control and needed Blair only for the occasional drug - or medicine, for that matter - induced weird-out. 

Boy, had he been wrong. 

Arriving at the airport, he'd promptly forgotten to dial down his hearing, since there'd been no quiet, soothing voice at his side to tell him so. He'd needed half a day to recover from the sensual overload. But that'd been only the beginning; in fact, the whole week was filled with little disasters and major headaches. Sometimes he'd barely made it in time for the control calls to Simon twice a day, on which Blair had insisted - just in case he zoned a little bit too permanently. 

Touched by the obvious concern, and slightly annoyed at the same time, Jim had only bitched a bit and agreed easily enough. In his arrogance, he'd been convinced that he would be alright. It was only for a couple of days, right? 

Right. 

By friday night, exactly six days since leaving Cascade, he'd been anxious as hell to come home. Home to the safety of the loft and the calmness of his guide. On his last call the day before, he'd given Simon his arrival dates and the older man had assured him that Blair would be there to pick him up. 

When he left the gateway, though, he could hear hundreds of different voices, smell everything from the soap in the duty-free shops to the burnt hamburgers in the fast-food restaurants - but could sense nothing that belonged to Sandburg. Jim had been standing there \- in the midst of hugging people - nearly zoning in his ministrations to make sure that Blair really wasn't near. For all he knew, it was another test and the younger man was hiding behind some smelly old man. 

Finally, after being nearly shoved to the ground by an impatient businessman, he went to pick up his luggage and got a cab home. And the anger started to boil. 

Over the last two days, being alone had almost physically _hurt_. Maybe that was the reason that, when he smelled Simon's cigars and underneath it Blair's distinctive odor, one Jim Ellison turned a furious glare at the door. 

* * *

Simon was concerned. Not only did Blair suffer from a severe case of the flu, but - as if that wasn't enough, considering his weakened lungs - the younger man was also in a state that Simon recognized as a deep depression. 

Ever since that first phone call from Jim, when the detective had claimed that he was okay on his own, Blair had become more silent than usual. For all the talking he did, the anthropologist was an extreme private man, never sharing anything intimate, always staying on the surface of things with funny and interesting anecdotes. 

Not many people recognized that, but Simon hadn't become Captain of Major Crimes because of his looks. Jim's indifference visibly hurt Blair, even though the whole thing had been his idea in the first place. 

Watching as the younger man slowly made his way from his car to the door of the apartment building, Simon held open for him, the Captain reflected on the frantic call he'd received from a fellow TA at Rainier a couple of hours ago. He'd been more than surprised to hear that Sandburg had collapsed during one of his lessons and refused to go to the hospital, despite having a high fever. He hadn't even known that the younger man was sick, not to speak of seriously so. 

He'd picked Blair up and got him to the doctor. Doped with heavy antibiotics and painkillers, the anthropologist was groggy and seemed ready to collapse again at any minute. Simon's patience as a friend was tested to its limits when the younger man strictly refused to let him call Jim. 

Simon glanced up the building. Ellison should be home by now. Blair had mumbled something about picking the older man up at the airport, but Simon had intercepted that plan very quickly. 

Dragging the younger man into the elevator and then out of it to the door of #307 left Simon panting and cursing Megan's fantastic cooking. She was a godsend, not only for him, but Daryl as well. His son had been hesitant at the beginning of their relationship, Megan in his eyes more of a friend than a possible life-partner for his dad. But even a stubborn teenager wasn't prone to resist the charms of a determined Australian cop. 

They'd both gained several pounds over the last weeks. 

Opening the door with Blair's keys, Simon guided his sick friend into the loft, glad that the lights were on. At least Jim could take care of the anthropologist now. Not that he was a real bother. Because he wasn't. Even feverish, Blair was considerate of the people around him, trying to ease the strain he put on Simon by using his own diminishing strength. 

The first glance of Jim brought Simon up short, every thought of leaving immediately vanishing from his mind. The detective was seething, fury clearly visible in his eyes, even though his face was an impassive mask. Keeping Blair behind him, Simon faced his friend. But Jim ignored him, all concentration focused on Blair. The younger man didn't seem to notice his Sentinel's anger, usual perceptiveness clouded by fever and joy at having his friend back. 

"Jim," he breathed, his voice affected by the congested lungs. He took a step forward, anxious for the physical contact that seemed to be such an important part of the Sentinel/Guide bond. 

Jim didn't react. He stared at his guide, and Simon could just tell that he didn't notice the fever at all. Whatever bothered Jim had affected him to a point where every reason was beyond him. Simon had seen it before and dreaded it. The last time, it had Blair cost his life. 

"Where the fucking hell have you been?" 

Blair flinched back as if slapped, the cold voice not at all what he'd been expecting from his Sentinel. "What? Jim, I..." 

Stepping closer menacingly, Jim's face contorted itself in a mask of anger. "I needed you at the airport, _chief_." 

Even Simon winced this time, the nickname sounded like an accusation. "Jim..." 

"I needed you!" Jim continued, unaware of the way his guide paled alarmingly. "The trip was hell, this whole _week_ was hell and then you weren't even there to pick me up!" The last part was said loudly, nearly yelled in Blair's face. 

"Ellison, stop it!" The command voice worked. Years of training in the military and as a cop stopped the tirade coming from the ex-ranger. Not early enough for Simon, though, who _had_ seen Blair's helplessness, the pain and the confusion. 

"What?" Jim bellowed harshly. When he turned to his captain, it was all Simon could do not to gasp in shocked surprise. Jim had lost weight, he had dark circles under his weary eyes and pain lines were visible around his mouth. 

The Sentinel obviously needed help, and he was currently working hard on alienating the only person that could provide it. Glancing at the younger man at his side, every protective instinct Simon had ever harbored for the anthropologist surged to life. Blair was breathing hard, the congestion loud enough to be heard even for not-Sentinel ears. He was staring wide-eyed at Jim, then turned his pained gaze at Simon. 

"Get a grip, detective. He wasn't at the airport because I brought him to the doctor," Simon said, not quite as loud, moving subtly closer to Blair. He'd seen the slight trembling of the weakened body and right now he didn't trust Jim to be quick enough to catch his guide. 

"Simon?" Blair sounded lost. The captain saw Jim frown at his words, but his stance was still angry and he didn't move towards the younger man. Making a decision, Simon pulled Blair close, so that he supported most of his weight. Sighing, the anthropologist leaned heavily against him. For a moment, Simon was moved at the trust Sandburg bestowed on him. 

"What are you doing?" 

Banks looked up, biting back a cutting remark. "We're leaving," he said instead. "I'm taking Blair to my house. He's sick enough, and doesn't need your anger on top of it. And I want _you_ to calm down, clean yourself up and then you can come over and apologize to your partner." 

He didn't wait for a reply. The last look of Jim showed the detective rooted to the spot, realization dawning on his face. Satisfied for the moment, Simon closed the door behind them as he once again half-carried his precious burden to the elevator. 

With a sigh, he murmured, "My back's gonna kill me." 

* * *

Jim was numb. The anger had vanished, to be replaced by a laming feeling of guilt and shame. He'd yelled at his guide, not once noticing what he now knew where the signs of a high fever. Fuck, Simon had brought Blair to the ER, something the Captain wouldn't do easily, knowing the younger man's dislike of hospitals. 

The headache, which had lessened at Blair's closeness, was returning full force, almost driving him to his knees. He nearly zoned on the pain, but then remembered Simon's words and pulled himself together. Turning down the pain dial, Jim straightened up and made his way over to the bathroom. 

First, a shower. Then, the apology. 

"Shit, chief," he said haughtily to himself. "Why do you even bother sometimes?" 

Silence was his only answer. 

* * *

As soon as Simon arrived at his house, the door opened and Megan came out, a frown marring her beautiful features. She took one look at him, as he pulled the unresponsive Blair from the car, and immediately came over to assist him. 

"Is Jim okay?" she asked eventually. 

Thrown by the non sequitur, busy as he was with handling 140 pounds of anthropologist, Simon answered distractedly, "Why wouldn't he be?" 

Megan gave him her best 'Well, d'uh!' look. "Because Blair is here, and Jim would not let him out of his sight, if he were alright." 

Simon snorted nastily. "Let's just say that the Blessed Protector is on vacation." 

"Fuck," Megan said, very un-lady-like. "That bad?" 

"You have no idea." Grunting, he lowered Sandburg down on the bed in their guest-room bed. The flush of fever had deepened again, and every breath rattled in his lungs. The young man wasn't really sleeping, now and then his eyes would open and he'd look around searchingly, disappointment clearly visible every time. 

"He will come, Sandy. Don't worry," Megan said softly, as she pulled the blankets up, after removing the young man's shoes. 

"No." The voice wasn't more than a whisper. "I failed him again, I... I... failed..." The quiet words changed to harsh gasps and then to a bout of coughing that robbed the young man of his breath for long moments. When he eventually calmed down, Simon had the pills and coughing juice ready. 

The exertion had been too much, and right after swallowing his medicine, Blair fell in an uneasy sleep. Simon sighed wearily, the long day finally taking its toll. 

"Go to bed," Megan said, after taking a look at him. "I'm gonna take care of him." 

Gratefully, Simon kissed her, all too ready for his bed. This just wasn't right, Blair was supposed to be healthy and bouncy, not sick and - _broken_. Sending a quick prayer to every deity watching over Sentinels and their guides, the exhausted captain went to bed. He just hoped that Jim would come to his senses quick. 

No pun intended. 

* * *

Blair woke with the nagging feeling that something was wrong. He felt groggy, hung-over in a way that usually indicated heavy medication. There were no hospital sounds around him, though, and the blanket covering him didn't feel scratchy at all. No hospital then. 

A woman's voice wafted through the room, and with a start Blair realized that he was at Simon's. Memory came back, replaying itself behind tightly closed eyelids. Guilt filled the young guide as he once again took in the Sentinel's haggard state. Jim had obviously been in pain, and it was his fault. What a stupid idea this _test_ had been. He should have known better. 

"Damn," he murmured, not recognizing the barely-there state of his voice. 

"Blair?" Megan said from the doorway, distracted by the large tray she was carrying. "Good, you're awake. I didn't want to disrupt your beauty sleep, but Simon insisted on the meds." Not waiting for a reply, she headed over to him, carefully placing down the tray on the bedside table. She glanced at him, holding up the coughing juice and what she saw in his face, brought her up short. 

"What?" she queried gently and sat down beside him, medicine forgotten. "Blair, what's wrong?" 

Blair swallowed hart, desperately trying to clear his fever-huddled brain. "Megan, I have to go home." 

"Oh, I don't think so, hon." 

"But Jim needs me!" Struggling upright, Blair stared at her with as determined a look he could muster. "Please, Megan. I just know he hurts and I'm the only one that can help him when he's like that." 

She sighed heavily, her face as serious as he'd ever seen it. "This Sentinel stuff gets old pretty quickly, Sandy. You know, I like Jim. He's a great cop and a better friend. Most of the time that is. What I don't get is why you're always taking his shit, when Mr. High and Mighty decides _again_ he's better off alone. Why are you doing it, Blair?" 

A little stunned by her outburst, the anthropologist stared at her dumbly. "Do what?" he managed eventually. 

"Why the hell do you put up with him? You never fight back when he gets like that, you just duck and take it. I've seen you being challenged, Blair, and you never cower. Only with him. Why?" 

"Because he needs me to." The quiet words shocked the Australian into silence. Shaking her head, she just sat there. 

Blair sighed faintly, cringing when it made his chest hurt. Megan frowned at him, but her voice was gentle. "Tell me," she demanded softly. 

"Jim never had it easy. You know that," he waited for her affirmation, pulling a face when she used the pause to get him to swallow the coughing juice. "As a child, nobody ever took him seriously, he was punished for using his senses and ignored whenever he did what was naturally for him. Megan, I'm probably the only person to ever even _try_ to understand him." 

"And that's the reason you let him push you away?" 

"No," Blair whispered, unwanted tears stealing his breath. It was hard, so hard to keep his emotions in check. "That's the reason why I always come back, why I always forgive. He needs to know that I'll never leave him, no matter what he does, or says." 

Shaking her head, with an expression of fascinated disbelief, Megan busied herself with pouring tea from the thermos into a mug. Handing the steaming cup to Blair, she sat down beside him on the bed. 

Only then did she look into his eyes. "You love him." 

Lowering to hide his face, the anthropologist bit back what threatened to become a heartshattering scream. "Yes." 

"Oh, Sandy." 

Sensing an opening, Blair began to beg. "Please, Meg. I have to go back to the loft. He needs me, I can feel it." 

She hesitated, clearly taken aback by his vehemence. Eventually, she nodded. "Okay, but you're not going alone. I'm coming with you. No way are you driving." 

Blair sighed with relieve. To stave off another lecture, he took a large drink of the tea, nearly scalding his tongue. The herbs immediately soothed his sore throat and helped him breath, more so than the coughing juice. 

When he set the mug aside and made an attempt of climbing out of bed, Megan held her hands up and protested. "Why don't you sleep another couple of hours, Blair? I'm sure Jim is fine, and if he really needs your help, you won't be able to do much about it in your current state." 

Snorting, Blair smiled a little. "Oh, come on. You helped me getting out of the hospital, right after drowning, and wandered with me through a _jungle_! This," he pointed at himself clumsily, "is nothing." 

"It's not," she answered harshly, face contorted in a mask of self-deprivation. "Shit, Blair, I still have nightmares about that trip. I nearly got you killed!" 

"I'm fine, Megs. I was then and I am now. Everyone gets sick once in a while. Just wait, you're next." 

The smile, when it came, was slightly teary, but it was enough. Without saying anything else, Blair sat up and got slowly out of the bed. He knew he was weak, so he considered every movement very carefully. He wasn't going to mess up his one chance at seeing Jim. The feeling of wrongness still lingered, in fact, it got stronger with every passing second. 

When Megan wordlessly handed him his clothes, Blair used the moment to pull her into a hug. "Everything's going to be alright," he said quietly, as much for his own benefit as hers. 

Dressing and walking to the car left Blair panting. Ignoring Megan's concerned gaze, he lowered himself into the passenger seat and leaned his head against the window of the closed door. He catnapped all the way and arriving at Prospect, he felt strong enough for the encounter. As he turned to Megan to thank her, he saw her taking off his seatbelt and opening the door. 

"What are you doing?" he asked stupidly. 

"I told you, I'm going with you." 

"But-" 

"It's either me, or Simon," she interrupted, waving her cell-phone. "Your choice." 

Too tired to put up much of a fight, Blair lowered his head in defeat and more than stumbled out of the car. The ride up was a silent one, and when the elevator doors opened, Blair nearly ran the rest of the way. His hands were shaking as he fumbled with the keys, so much so, that Megan took them from him. 

The opening door revealed a silent and dark loft. There were no signs of life, but Blair knew that Jim was home. His heart was beating hard in his chest as fear filled him. 

"Jim?" he said, with a noticeable quiver in his voice. 

Frowning, Megan searched for the light, cursing when she bumped rather painfully into something. The moment light filled the open living room, Blair let out an anguished whimper. 

"Oh god, Jim." He was hurrying over to the unmoving figure, curled up on the couch. Taking in the wide-open, but unseeing eyes, it was painfully visible that Jim had zoned. Panic filled Blair as he touched skin cold as ice. Grabbing the ever-present afghan, the guide wrapped it around his Sentinel, all the while chanting softly. 

Megan watched the scene silently, amazed again by the confidence Blair's actions showed. Even though he was scared half out of his mind, he knew exactly what he was doing, on an almost instinctive level. 

Pressing both hands to Jim's chest, Blair willed warmth into the still body. "Come on, Jim. I know you're in there. It's time to come back, okay? Please?" There was no reaction, but somehow Blair felt a change. "Yeah, that's it, that's the way. Just follow my voice. I'm here, Jim, hear my heartbeat." 

With light butterfly touches, Blair covered his Sentinels face, pressing a little harder on his shirt-covered chest. He was kneeling beside the couch, every discomfort forgotten for the moment, totally wrapped up in rousing Jim out of the zone. 

Suddenly, Jim gasped, his whole body convulsing. His eyes blinked furiously, and warmth flooded back into his body. Nearly weeping in relieve, Blair lowered his head to Jim's belly, exhaustion overwhelming him. 

"What the hell?" The bellowed words were directly followed by a hard shove that sent Blair sprawling. Pain exploded in his chest, head and side, wringing a cry out of him. Unable to draw in precious oxygen, Blair struggled to control his breathing. 

Not allowing himself to think about what had just happened, the young man blanked his mind. 

* * *

"What the _hell_ is wrong with you, Ellison?" Megan shouted, seeing Blair crumble to the ground and stay there. She hurried over, squatting down beside the unmoving figure. "Blair?" she crooned softly, concerned when her friend didn't answer. 

"Connor..." Only the raw pain in Jim's voice made her look up. God, the man looked bad. Bloodshot eyes met her stony glare, and when he moved, he couldn't quite stifle the gasp of discomfort. "Let me help him," he pleaded in a rough voice. "Please, Megan, it was...it was an accident. I didn't mean to hurt him, I'd never..." 

He reached his hands out towards his guide. The helpless gesture did more to change Megan's mind than his words did. It spoke of longing and a deep longing. She didn't answer, but moved slowly to the side, never letting Jim out of her sight. 

Sinking to his knees and - with a tenderness that bespoke his rash actions from before - Jim turned Blair over and cradled him in his arms. Supporting his back, he brought the guide in a sitting position, to help him breathe. Blair's eyes were tightly closed and tears of pain were streaming down his slightly stubbled cheeks. 

"I'm sorry," Jim whispered, catching the wetness and wiping it away with his sleeve. He rocked the compact body back and forth, all the while whispering tender words. It was the exact same thing that Blair had done only minutes before and suddenly, Megan felt out of her depths. She wasn't quite ready to leave Blair alone, though. 

When Blair finally answered the softly spoken pleas, Connor watched them for about five more minutes, making sure that being smacked around hadn't injured the anthropologist seriously. Jim seemed to have found the Blessed Protector again, and was currently checking Blair's breathing. 

Neither one noticed when she left. At the door, Megan looked back, her brows narrowing dangerously. One detective Ellison was long overdue for a lecture, she decided. But that could wait till tomorrow. 

* * *

Blair snuggled back in the arms of his best friend, doing his best to shush the guilt-ridden words that tumbled out of the Sentinel. He listened to the explanation, heard the sincere apology and promises to _never_ do something like that again. 

It didn't really matter, though. Everything he needed to know, Jim showed with his touch. The gentle hands that checked his torso told him more than all the words in the world ever could, and the strong embrace made him feel safe and cherished. 

He'd known, the instant he rested his head on his agitated friends' body, that it was a mistake. Jim had just come out of a zone, the most vulnerable situation for a control-freak to be in, scared shitless and probably confused as hell. No wonder his first instinct had been to strike out, to attack. Blair - the guide - understood that. Now he just had to get Jim to forgive himself. 

When the desperate flow of words slowed, Blair smiled and turned around, so that he could see Jim's face. "I know, Jim. You don't have to apologize." 

"You're sick." It was a statement, not a question. 

"I'm better now." 

Jim huffed a little, suddenly looking around searchingly. "Megan's gone," he murmured distractedly, hoisting Blair up in his arms. He ignored the instant protests and carried his exhausted guide in the direction of his little bedroom. 

After a moment, he felt Blair snuggling into him, tightening his hold on the Sentinel's neck. "Stay with me?" the younger man whispered tiredly, shamelessly manipulating his overprotective friend by putting just the right touch of insecurity into his voice. Coupled with a slight cough and the soft press of one fever-warmed forehead to a Sentinel-touch-sensitive neck settled it. 

"No way am I sleeping on a futon," Jim grumbled, changing ways and heading to the stairs. 

Tensing a little, Blair pulled back to stare at his roommate, best friend, Sentinel and holy grail questioningly. "Jim, you don't have to..." Trailing off uncertainly, Blair was surprised to see a gentle smile appear on Jim's face. 

"Sure do. Blair, what I said the other day, I didn't mean it. You know, that crap about you not being there for me. I was way out of line." 

Blair stared at his Sentinel, scrutinizing him. "Let me down," he said finally, his voice emotionless. 

Jim felt his stomach plummet as he slowly set his best friend down. Somehow, he'd crossed the line, had gone too far and Blair was unable to forgive another time. Painfully aware of all the times during the last few months that he'd given his guide reason for hurt, Jim tried to steel himself against the ultimate rejection. 

"God damn it, you're one stubborn son of a bitch," the younger man said finally, oddly enough without real force behind it. Totally thrown, Jim stood there with his mouth wide open. 

"See," Blair continued, still serious, no smile gracing his face. "I won't take this anymore, man." 

Shock numbed Jim. "Chief-" 

"No!" He was harshly interrupted. "It's my turn now. You'll listen." 

Nodding dejectedly, Jim waited for the ax to fall. 

Blair took a deep breath, and a sudden smile lit up his tired face. "This is ridiculous, Jim. There's no reason for you to still continue riding this guilt trip. I mean, sheesh, how many times can one say 'I'm sorry' and not sound like a broken record?" He frowned slightly, and lowered himself to the first step of the chairs. Jim noticed the subtle stumble in his guide's movement with concern. 

"Do you know why I wanted you to put me down?" 

Jim shook his head silently. 

"Because I needed to say this with you seeing me as an equal," he paused a little, for effect, and then said: "I forgive you. You're my Sentinel, and although you hurt me sometimes - or make me mad enough to spit nails - I'll always be there for you. I won't leave you, Jim. Not ever." 

The feeling of relieve that flooded the Sentinel was so intense that it took every ounce of power in his body with it. Sinking to his knees, he grabbed Blair's hands and pressed them to his chest, right over his heart. There were no words to describe the contentment he felt when Blair lowered his head and gently kissed him on the forehead. 

A sudden wave of exhaustion washed over Jim, triggered by the lessening of the tension that had kept him on his feet for too long. Looking up, Jim kept hold of his guide's hands as he slowly stood up. 

"I guess we're long past our bedtime, huh, Chief?" he said a little roughly. 

Blair accepted his slight withdrawal and smiled. "You're probably right, big guy. Want me to, um, you know..." He gestured awkwardly in the direction of his room. 

Jim shook his head and silently lead his guide up the stairs. Everything was catching up with him and as he half-supported Blair upstairs, Jim felt the bone-deep tiredness that he'd ignored for too long. Tumbling on the bed, Jim just about had enough presence of mind to get their jeans off. 

In moments on the verge of sleep, Blair curled into his Sentinel. "Love you," he mumbled into the pillows. Not really aware of what he was doing, Jim pulled Blair against his side. Both were asleep in moments. 

* * *

Sitting bolt upright, Jim immediately checked the loft with his senses. Not sure what had woken him up, he searched for Blair's familiar heartbeat. It took him a second to pinpoint why it sounded different, but when he felt an unfamiliar warmth next to him in the bed, memory came rushing back. 

Looking down at the unmoving figure of his guide, Jim remembered the soft-spoken words from a few hours before with something akin to dread. It wasn't that he was bothered by Blair loving him, no, he was _thrilled_ by it. He just wasn't sure if he was able to return it properly. Blair deserved the best, not some hard-assed ex-military cop who couldn't tell his emotions apart from his _ass_ if his life depended on it. 

Drawn from his contemplations by a change in his guide's breathing pattern, Jim watched him struggle for awareness. A fond smile graced his lips as the younger man visibly fought against waking up with all his might. 

"Jim?" Blair mumbled eventually, a second before sleepy eyes opened. The smile dropped from the Sentinel's face at the pure admiration shining from the gaze leveled at him. This just wasn't right, Blair shouldn't _look_ at him like that, not after everything he'd put him through. 

With a little yawn, Blair stretched languidly and grabbed Jim's hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

"I'm glad you stayed here," he rasped, voice not yet recovered from the excessive coughing. "I kinda thought you'd sneak down and sleep on the couch or something." 

Whishing that he had, Jim pulled his hand back, ignoring the strange tingling that spread through his whole body, starting from the point of their connection. His resolve to somehow _stop_ this almost wavered when hurt flashed over his guide's mobile features. 

Almost. 

"I can't do this, Blair," he finally said in a low voice. 

"Do what?" 

Blair wasn't normally obtuse and every instinct in Jim screamed 'trap'. Taking a moment to gather his wits, Jim got up to pull on his jeans. "Look," he hedged, not really sure what he wanted to say. "You still have a fever and you're not yourself right now. I think we should step back here and - back off." 

Frustration flittered over Blair's face and he looked down, probably to control his temper. "You like that concept, huh? Of backing off? Detach with love and all that crap. Man, I hate it." Taking a deep breath - this time without puking up his lungs - the younger man pinned Jim down with his most intense I-want-you-to-listen-to-me-and- _understand_ -something look. "I, Blair Jakob Sandburg, love you, James Joseph Ellison. No bending around it." 

Staring open-mouthed at the calm figure occupying his bed, Jim tried to control the rising panic. He couldn't deal with this, not after pushing Blair around like he'd done. 

"Jesus, don't," he whispered brokenly, hard-pressed to hide the shaking of his hands. Clearing his throat harshly to gain some control back, Jim turned back to his guide to meet a strangely compassionate gaze. Staring at Blair with open curiosity, the Sentinel automatically checked the younger man's vitals, relieved when he found the congestion cleared and the temperature almost normal. 

With that information calming his concern, Ellison descended the stairs quickly. "I have to get out of here for a while, to clear my head." When he looked up, Blair was standing at the top of the stairs, looking forlorn. "I'll be back, okay? I just..." Searching for the right words to describe the turmoil that were his emotions, Jim nearly missed Blair's soft-spoken words. 

"Go, Jim. You know where to find me when you're ready." To make a decision that will alter our entire life, were the words that Blair didn't add. 

With a nod, the Sentinel grabbed his keys and was out the door before his best friend's weary sigh could change his mind. 

* * *

Jim had no idea where he was driving. The trucks engine growled calmingly underneath him and the lively traffic of Cascade kept his thoughts from turning too often to the problem at hand. It was only after his foot automatically hit the breaks, that he acknowledged that he was standing right in front of Simon's house. 

"Fuck," he cursed loudly. Aware of the fact that a lecture was coming, and even more aware of how much he deserved it, Jim got out of the car, slowly as an old man, and made his way to the front door. It opened before he could ring the doorbell, revealing a frowning Megan. 

"I hope you haven't left Blair alone in his condition." 

Despite her serious tone of voice, Jim couldn't help the grin. Blair always evoked this kind of protectiveness, even though the anthropologist was more than capable of taking care of himself. 

"He was fine after he slept a little, Megan. Is Simon at home?" 

"I sure am, Ellison," came the Captain's characteristic bellow from inside. "Are you here for the yelling you deserve, or do I have to slap some sense in this thick noggin' of yours?" 

Wincing slightly, Jim stepped into the house when Megan gestured him inside. "I'm here to apologize, Simon, and to ask for your advise," he surprised himself by saying. 

Standing in the tiny kitchen, Simon handed him a cup of coffee without answer. Squirming a little under the scrutinizing gazes of both his colleagues, Jim took a cautious sip, unable to resist checking the brown substance with his sense of smell. 

A snort made him look up to see a smile on Simon's face. "If I really wanted to poison you, Ellison, I'd hardly do it in my own house." 

"I would." Megan looked deadly serious. 

"This is not helping, honey," Simon said gently. Megan glared at him, but she staid silent and busied herself with fixing another coffee. Both looked at Jim expectantly and after a lengthy pause in which the detective tried to gather enough courage to tell them about his fuck-up, he was amazed to realize that the first words that tumbled out of his mouth where: "I love Blair." 

Connor's dry "Yehaa," was accompanied by Simon's mumbled "About time." Shushing them into the living room, the Captain settled down comfortably in his favorite love seat. Nursing his coffee, he said: "And now tell us why you're here, looking like someone killed your puppy, instead of being with Blair." 

So Jim talked. 

"Let me get this straight," Megan said finally. "Blair, the man you're in love with, finally has the guts to tell you about his feelings and _you_ run out on him because you think you're not good enough for him?" 

Staring numbly in his mug, Jim half-shrugged. "Sounds pretty dumb, huh?" 

"No," answered Simon thoughtfully. "It just shows the depths of your insecurities. Believe it or not, I can really understand your reasoning. Don't get me wrong, I don't agree with you, but I see where it's coming from. It's just, don't you think that it's the most arrogant thing to think that you are able to decide what is best for Blair? He's an adult and he's made his own choices for a long time now." 

"I think he'd be pissed if he knew the reason for this little PDA," the Australian waited for both men to look at her with confusion, before she added, "as in Public Display of Angst." 

Groaning, Jim hid his face in his hands. "I'm such an idiot." 

"No," Megan patted him on the head. "Just a man." 

* * *

Jim entered the loft as silently as he could. He'd checked, and Blair's heartbeat sounded regular and even. Not yet asleep, but not upset either. 

The talk with Simon had been interesting, if a bit embarrassing. At least he was seeing clear now, convinced that loving Blair was the best thing that ever happened to him. And to be loved back by Blair was pure bliss. 

He just hoped that he hadn't blown his chance with his stupidity. The last thing he'd intended was to hurt Blair, but that was, of course, what he'd done. Jim's only hope was that he somehow would be able to find the right words - not an easy task for the detective. But he'd try, for Blair. 

Automatically dialing down his sight, it took Jim a few moments to realize it was gentle candlelight that lit the loft. Soft music wafted through the air, warmed by the burning fire, and the smell of herbs rose from two steaming cups of tea. 

Blair was curled up on the couch, wrapped in a thick blanked, calmly looking at Jim with half-closed eyes. He didn't look hurt. He didn't even look confused. Contentment radiated from the lithe body and just like that, every bit of nervousness and anxiety left Jim. 

"So you're back," Blair said softly, after a while. 

"Yeah." Struggling again for words, Jim suddenly became aware of the song that spilled out of the speakers. He dimly remembered it to be Billy Joel, one of Blair's favorites, but he couldn't remember the song. It didn't really matter, though, cause suddenly he knew what to say to make Blair understand. 

Making his couch way over to kneel before his guide, Jim smiled at him. "Do you know what has been wrong all this time?" 

Blair mutely shook his head. 

"My entire life, I've been homesick. Always and everywhere I went - until I met you. You're my home, Blair."  
A radiant smile appeared on Blair's face and just as their lips touched for the first hesitant kiss, Billy Joel sang his final chorus. 

'Well, I never had a place  
that I could call my very home,  
but that's alright my love,  
cause you're my home.'


End file.
